


Reunited

by StarlightHawke



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No RFA (Mystic Messenger), M/M, Trans!saeran, its a bit angsty, sorry bout that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:05:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightHawke/pseuds/StarlightHawke
Summary: My second piece for the lgbt zine, Love Through the Ages! This one follows the life of Saeran Choi. Having run away from home, he finds himself alone and sick. A stranger takes him in... and everything changes.





	Reunited

The streets may be cold and unforgiving, but the biting wind and debilitating hunger are still preferable to the harrowing warmth of the hell they escaped from.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he huddles close to his sister, their worn jackets providing little protection against the crisp autumn air. Winter is coming, and they have nothing. No money, no food, no place to stay. Like two cornered animals, they snap at anyone who dares come near, fearful of discovery. Bright red hair and freckled faces aren’t commonplace in Korea; they look too similar to  _ him _ , with his face plastered everywhere for his current campaign. All it would take is one person, a single well-meaning soul to mention their likeness to him and everything would crash down upon them. 

They barely escaped from a demon. A devil is far beyond their capabilities. 

An uncomfortable tickle starts in the center of his chest, but he tries to ignore it. She doesn’t need to know, doesn’t need the stress of him getting sick again. It wore on her when they still lived in that wretched house, constantly being sent out to get the basest of medicines to keep him breathing. But out here where medicine is a luxury they can’t afford? No, he won’t do that to her. She’s strong, far stronger than him - always has been, that’s why he was the bound one, rope burns around his ankles as he scrambled to avoid the beer bottles and sharp nails threatening to rip his skin to shreds again. That strength has served both of them well, but it’s not enough out here. 

He needs to muster up his own courage and convince her that everything is fine. 

Turning his head to the side, he clears his throat as quietly as he can, brushing his hair back over his shoulder. Long and curly, it’s knotted and filled with dirt from their time on the streets, as is his sister’s. If it were up to him he’d chop it all off but that wouldn’t be wise with winter on its way. Irksome it may be, but it helps protect his face from the wind.

The tickle spreads outward, invading his lungs first. This is a bad one, without a doubt. The type of cough that sounds more like hacking and wheezing, inhales sharp and full of needles. There’s nowhere to hide out here, no place to sneak off and pretend to use the restroom so she can’t hear. Aware that it’s fruitless, he continues his attempt to hold it at bay, throat on fire and eyes stinging with tears. If he can just contain it long enough, it’s possible it will subside. Maybe it’ll die down and he’ll be able to breathe easily for a few more moments of-

And then it’s erupting from him like water bursting through a dam, every bit as loud and painful as he’d predicted. He’s curling in on himself, clutching his chest as though his silent prayer for it to stop will change how agonizing it is and how worried she must be, now that she knows. The weight of her hands on his shoulders is the only thing that doesn’t hurt, tears trickling down cold-kissed cheeks causing his skin to burn. 

An eternity passes before the fit tapers off. Frigid air only hurts his lungs more but at least he can breathe and oh no, she’s looking at him with a knowing expression and he can see the gears turning in her mind as she tries to work out a solution to this.

“How long?” she asks, golden eyes searching his own. 

He doesn’t have to ask what she means. “A while.” 

She sighs and pulls him into a hug he melts into, wishing he had the same vitality she’d been born with. A body that isn’t constantly trying to die, a mind not always beset by nightmares. The lack of dysmorphia and self-hatred that stews until sometimes he wishes these stupid illnesses would take his life. 

“I’m gonna go get us some soup.” A final squeeze and she releases him, patting his cheek with a forced smile. “Don’t worry, I know a place we can get some without getting in trouble.” 

The corners of his mouth pull down as he eyes her warily. Stealing is their only means of obtaining food and while she’s a far cry better than him, soup isn’t something she can stuff under her shirt and pretend is part of her developing chest. Then again, she  _ has  _ gained a decent amount of connections out here; plenty to keep them alive, not enough to grant them a place to stay. 

“Okay,” he answers, chewing on the inside his cheek. She’s never let him down, even when it should’ve been impossible. 

The reward is a real smile and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “It might take me a bit but I’ll be back before long, I promise.” Running her fingers through her matted hair, she nods decisively. “Stay here, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Not like he has much of an option. His gaze follows her as she disappears around the corner to linger in the empty space for a moment, and he swallows hard, pretending not to notice the heavy feeling in his gut. It’s okay. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about. Backing up to lean against the wall, he lets himself sink to the ground and hugs his knees to his chest to stay warm. He’ll just wait. It’s fine. She’ll be back soon.

~~~~~~

Night falls, the streets lighting up as people continue to make their way along the sidewalk, not paying any attention to the figure still huddled on the ground. The ragged jacket is almost covering his head by now, hands stuffed inside the sleeves as the temperature dips. He’s not sure how long it’s been since she left, but she said it could take a while. 

It’s fine. She’ll be back soon.

~~~~~~

The cough only worsens, every breath morphing into a frightening rattle. It’s never been this bad before; the cheap medicine and crumbs of stale bread were enough to stabilize him. But out here, alone? There’s nothing. No one. 

Worry floods him in waves. Over a day has passed since she left. Torn between looking for her and staying put (what happens if she comes back only to find him gone?), he uses what strength he has to pace back and forth in the alley, thankful for the small warmth the movements provide. People are noticing now, their pitying eyes sweeping over him before they scurry onward. Whether it’s guilt or fear that sends them forward, he’s not sure. There’s no question he must look frightful, hair unkempt and disgusting, face covered in dirt and flushed, muttering under his breath as he takes each step. 

Hatred grows in his heart as it continues to happen. Is this the reality of humanity? Not enough compassion in a single person’s heart to reach out to a distressed child on the street. He’s not stupid, he knows 15 is hardly the same as someone half his age, but with how small and fragile he appears... 

This was a mistake. They were idiots for even considering that there might be a better place for them than in hell. That’s where they were created, after all. It’s where they belong. 

Coughs wrack through his body and he falls to his knees, head buried in his trembling hands. He can’t do this. He needs his sister. But. She said to wait.

One more night. One more night and then he will try to find her. And if that fails, well, then… back to hell he goes.

~~~~~~

Everything hurts. Every joint, muscle, even his  _ bones _ ache. A hammer pounds away in his head as he struggles to stand, hand pressed against the cold brick wall to steady himself as the world around him spins. He’s tired, so, so tired and wants to go back to sleep but he’s slept far too long already. It would be a death sentence to stay here any longer, and the last thing he desires is to leave her. There’s no doubt that something bad happened at this point. 

One step forward, then another, then another. It’s hard to focus when his surroundings tilt with every movement and even harder to breathe with a plugged nose. Now people are  _ really _ noticing his presence, stopping to point, murmuring in hushed tones but he pushes on, lacking the energy to care about what they’re doing. Paranoid thoughts circle in his hazed mind, growing louder the further he shambles down the street. They probably know who he is and are plotting to call and turn him in. No doubt that’s what happened to her. 

But he won’t go without a fight. No, he has to save her, save his twin from the devil even if it gets him killed. 

Someone shouts and he jumps, whipping around in alarm to see what’s happening but his body doesn’t cooperate, stumbling to the side to smash into a cold, semi-solid surface. 

He knows he’s sicker than he wants when the surface speaks to him. “Hey, you okay?” 

Large hands grasp onto his shoulders, gently pushing him to stand upright.The world is spinning around him but he squints at the blurred image in front of him. They’re taller than him, white hair framing their face but it’s the piercing red eyes that capture his attention. 

The only eyes he has any interest in are golden.

“Let me go.” It’s hardly more than a slurred whisper as he squeezes his lids shut, wishing the ground would stop tipping under him. “‘M fine.”

“Uhh, I dunno, you don’t look like it. Are you ill?” 

The disbelieving tone of the stranger rankles him to the core. “I said,  _ let me go! _ ” He pushes the person away with all of his might, relieved when he’s released without any further fuss.

Which is a mistake. His feet manage a few steps in a different direction than he intends before his knees buckle and give out.  _ Well, this is fantastic, _ is the last thought he has as he plummets to the ground, darkness swallowing him up whole.

~~~~~~

It’s an uneasy sleep, one riddled with unsettling images and voices he’s never heard before. Sometimes it’s hard for him to tell if he’s awake or dreaming. Nothing’s comfortable, either too hot or too cold or both  simultaneously , his body trembling  violently  with shivers that emanate from his core. And always, always aware that he’s missing something, a part of him he can’t be complete without. 

The only break in the erratic waves of confusion is the bright shining being he assumes must be an angel. He feels the cool water in his throat, occasionally the soft pat of someone murmuring to him while he retches into whatever receptacle is nearby, gently washing his face and then singing him a lullaby until he drifts off again.

He thinks perhaps he’s dying, passed out in some back alley and left for the dogs. It’s fine, maybe even a relief. He didn’t deserve to live this long anyway.

~~~~~~

_ Ow. _

Saeran rolls on his side with a soft groan, unconcerned with anything other than escaping the nuisance threatening to wake him. 

It doesn’t work.

_ Ouch! _

The annoying poke morphs into undeniable pain as something beneath him digs into his ribs. Jolting up into a sitting position, Saeran winces and rubs his eyes,  unsure if he’s happy to be alive . If his “congratulations, you didn’t die!” present includes an object trying to pierce his flesh, he’d very much like to return it and get a refund. 

A yawn slips out and he stretches a moment, blinking as he tries to adjust to the pitch black surrounding him. It’s unusual for it to be so dark on the streets; between the moon, streetlamps and any passing cars, there’s almost always some source of light. 

Wait. Is that a blanket on top of him?

Eyebrows scrunching in confusion, Saeran pats the area around him. Yeah, a blanket, and this is a bed. A bed that’s trying to kill him, but a bed nonetheless. Fear flashes through him as he shuffles toward what he hopes is the edge, shoving off the sheets on him and swinging his legs over to the ground. Where is he? Did… was he found out? Is he back in hell, or worse… did the devil find him? 

No, no, if this place belongs to  _ her _ then surely he’d be dead by now. He needs more clues. He reaches out blindly, fingers splayed as they search for something, anything around him. Hard wood greets him to his left and he scoots a little, following the sharp edge up over - ah, this must be some sort of bedside table. Smooth on top, cool to the touch. He slowly traces the surface, catching on a few scratches before bumping into an object. Squinting into the darkness, it’s only a matter of seconds between when he first felt it and when he hears it crash against the ground, cringing. That was loud. Holding his breath, he freezes, eyes wide as they watch for any sign of movement.

The squeak of the doorknob fills the otherwise silent room and he drops to the floor in alarm, biting his lip hard when he feels something slice into the skin of his left palm. He scrambles under the bed before the light flips on, pressing his side up to the wall.

“Hey, is everything okay in he- uh!?” 

That voice, it’s familiar… where has he heard it before? Bare feet come into view, pausing at the edge of the frame. Saeran tries to scrunch back further, watching a hand prod at a pile of broken glass on the floor. So that’s what fell… and what he cut himself on. 

“You don’t need to hide from me,” the voice says, softer this time. “I’m not mad. Are you okay? I see blood…” A pause, as though waiting for an answer that Saeran has no intention of giving. The moment stretches on forever before he hears a melodious sigh. “I’m gonna grab the broom and sweep this up.”

Feet disappear only to return to clean up the glass,  the bristles of the broom scratching over the floor. Saeran remains curled under the bed like a frightened cat even after the stranger leaves again, his breathing heavy and mind racing. He’s been through too much to trust anyone immediately. 

God, he wishes Saeyoung were here. She’d know what to do.

He jumps out of his skin when the person comes back and sits on the floor, red eyes peeking under the frame to look at him. “Hey, shh, it’s fine. I’m just worried about whatever got cut. Can you let me clean it, please?”

Shadows obscure part of the face but it resembles the angel from his dreams. Which is… yeah, that’s where the voice is from, too. That somehow both reassures and alarms him, but after a few moments he slowly creeps out from under the bed.  The angel moves back, leaving plenty of space between them, red stains on the floor from where Saeran’s injured  limb  had pressed. One perfectly sculpted hand reaches out, a wordless question passing between them. Chewing on his lip, Saeran glances at his palm once more before holding it out, shivering at the careful way soft fingers take it. 

Angel hisses in a breath. “That looks deep. I, uh, don’t keep much around the apartment so I’m just gonna wash it out with this towel. It’s gonna sting a bit, but we need to make sure it’s clean. Okay?”

Saeran nods; he’s familiar with wounds and the need to disinfect them. Saeyoung always did it for him. 

“Here we go.”

There’s a burst of pain that travels from his hand and up his arm, hitting him like a surge of electricity. An unwelcome whine peals from his throat and he hides behind his hair, not wanting  his rescuer to see the tears gathering in his eyes. Instead of judgement or harsh insults he receives words of encouragement and praise, and once the cut  is wrapped,  he peeks out to find  the angel  looking at him proudly. 

A tiny spark of warmth blooms in his chest, unfamiliar, strange. But. Nice.

“Do you want something to eat?”

Casting his gaze to the side, Saeran nods once, not wanting to anger this benevolent being.

“Then follow me.”

~~~~~~

A day passes, then two, Saeran left weak from illness. The first attempt at eating isn’t successful; a single bite awakens a hunger so deep he stuffs himself to the brim only for his body to reject it. Once more his angel soothes him, gives him water, pats his back. There’s medicine to help with his aches and his fever’s gone; the angel claims he’s getting better, and Saeran believes him. He says his name is Hyun, that he is in a biker gang and that he wants to be a musical star. Then he’s gushing about all sorts of musicals and  Saeran doesn't know what a musical is but finds himself drawn to how Hyung's voice shifts in pitch and rhythm when he's excited . Hyun talks a  _ lot _ but that’s okay; Saeran doesn’t mind listening. 

It distracts him from the guilt and worry about his sister. 

The third night arrives and Saeran  finally  keeps a day’s worth of full meals down. Lying in a pile of pillows on the floor, he watches Hyun emerge from the bathroom in sweatpants, shirtless with a towel around his neck and white tresses flowing freely down his back. One hand raises to tangle in his own messy locks, tugging on them. His body is clean from the shower he’d had yesterday but he hadn’t been able to get all the grime out of his hair. 

The brush Hyun runs through his hair doesn’t snag anywhere.  Saeran has no memory of his own hair being that nice, ever. "Will you help me wash my hair?" he finds himself blurting, instantly tensing his shoulders to fight the urge to cower as Hyung looks at him in surprise."

“Of course. I’ll help you however you want, babe.” 

~~~~~~

It’s a strange feeling, having someone gently and meticulously work through the snarls of his hair. In the past, his demon of a mother would rip through it, smacking him in the temple with the butt of the brush if he dared squirm. He never was as good at hiding his agony as his sister, tears running down dirt-stained cheeks when burning pain shot lanced through his scalp.

But this… this is nothing like that. Fingers carefully lather detangling conditioner into every snag, separating the strands at a steady pace. Once Hyun falls into a rhythm, it’s almost relaxing; Saeran finds himself whispering bits and pieces about his past between sympathetic hums and murmured apologies when a particularly stubborn knot elicits a pained hiss from him. The coolness of the counter grounds him against the oddly giddy emotions flooding him from the warm water and pleasant tingles of nails scratching lightly against skin, his breath catching when Hyun confesses he once was a child of Seoul, too. 

“But how? Wouldn’t someone as attractive as you be taken in?” He asks in confusion, a rush of satisfaction making him feel bolder when Hyun freezes, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. “I mean, you’re pretty damn hot, like sculpture-level, you know?”

Hyun’s blush deepens but he laughs, and the smile he flashes Saeran is dazzling. “You think so?”

The strange fluttering of his stomach is foreign to him, but it doesn’t keep Saeran from nodding. Obviously pleased, Hyun teases him, seemingly fueled on by Saeran’s growing inability to speak.  _ What does this mean? _

“You don't have to live on the streets anymore,” Hyun promises after he’s finished, Saeran’s hair clean and smooth as he braids it with nimble fingers. “Stay here, at least until we find your sister. Then we can get you two a place of your own.”

There it is again, that strange almost-vibration in his stomach. “...I don't know what to say,” he mumbles, face hot and eyes stinging with unshed tears. How is he supposed to respond to such a show of kindness?

“You can start with ‘thanks’.” 

Saeran’s startled chuckle morphs into a rolling wave of laughter as Hyun joins in, and he wonders if perhaps this is what friendship is like.

~~~~~~

“You want to do  _ what!?” _ Hyun’s face is comical, the beer can frozen right by his face as he stares at Saeran with eyes so wide they look like they could fall out. “Why?”

With a shrug, Saeran finishes his braid and ties it off, tossing it over his shoulder. “I’m gonna chop it all off. I don’t like it. It’s frizzy and annoying and a pain in the ass to take care of.”

“It’s beautiful, just like you,” Hyun corrects, taking a sip of the beer and setting it back down. “I’m sure there’s a lot of girls who would love to have your hair, princess.”

Saeran flinches, fingers scratching on the denim of the too-big jeans he’s wearing. He hadn’t bothered correcting anyone - not that anyone ever cared enough to address him in the first place beyond insults - but the longer he stays here, the more he feels like he needs to say  _ something.  _ Fear swells in his heart, worry that this fragile friendship will shatter beneath the weight of his confession and that he’ll lose everything again. His brows dip, mouth pursed as he glares at the table in frustration.

“Hey.” The soft tap on his hand brings him back from his thoughts and he glances up into the concerned face of Hyun. “What’s on your mind?”

How does he say it? Does he just…  _ blurt  _ it out? Is there a good way to do it? “I, uh.” In the matter of a few weeks he’s told Hyun everything about himself except this one thing. Why is this one single fact so damn hard? 

Exhaling harshly, he balls up his fists. “I’mnotagirlI’maboysopleasestopcallingmeprincess.” It whooshes out of him in one breath and he squeezes his eyes shut, the silence between them almost too much to bear. Yeah, this is it, this is when he gets kicked out and all of Hyun’s promises are rescinded because he’s too-

“Okay.”

...what?

Saeran dares to peek up at Hyun. He’s watching Saeran with a thoughtful expression, nodding. “Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me. Tomorrow we’ll go grab you some clothes, okay?”

“That’s… that’s it?” 

A soft laugh tumbles from Hyun. “Yep. If you say you’re Mr. Saeran Choi, then that’s who you are. You’re still the same person to me.”

And that’s the exact moment Saeran decided he wanted this man to be in his life forever.

~~~~~~

“I thought you hated his guts.” Saeran tilts his head to the side, absentmindedly tugging on the pink fringe of hair hanging over his eyes. It’s getting too long again, a fact he can tell not only because he has to constantly push it back so he can see his canvas, but also because there’s a solid inch of red roots showing. “So why would we go to his penthouse?”

The early morning light covers the kitchen in slits as it peeks through the blinds, dust dancing in and out of visibility. Eyes closed and leaned back against the counter, Hyun finishes chugging the bottle of water he’d grabbed promptly after walking through the door, long hair gathered in a ponytail and flowing freely over a shoulder. It should be a crime to look so beautiful after returning from a jog, in Saeran’s opinion. The way the sweat glistens on his forehead, drawing attention to the perfectly chiseled features as it pools and then slides along his temple, cheek, jaw… 

He forces himself to look away. A year later and he still isn’t over the embarrassing crush that formed far too early in their friendship. Someone like Hyun - confident, strong,  _ whole  _ \- could never be with someone like him.

“Yeah, well, I do. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t at least  _ go.” _ Dropping the bottle into the sink, Hyun shrugs, dabbing at his forehead with a towel. “Normally I’d tell him where to shove it, but, you know, today’s sort of… special.”

“You mean it’s the day that photographer plans to show him my art, yeah? Dunno why we gotta be there for that.” It was only a few months ago that they were at the park, Hyun chatting with a few people he’d met after his last show. Saeran had chosen to sit by the pond and lose himself in his sketchpad, trying to capture the peacefulness of his surroundings with ink and watercolor - a new pastime of his. Art had a way of drawing him in, of causing him to lose his connection to the rest of the world and just become one with his creations, and had become the main way he coped with his loneliness and guilt. 

He’d been entirely unaware when the blue-haired man broke away from the conversation with Hyun and meandered over to see what he was doing.

“Because it’s  _ your _ art,” Hyun interjects with a quiet laugh, dropping into the seat across the table and pulling Saeran back into the present. “I may not like that trust fund jerk, but that doesn’t mean you won’t. He’s got a lot of connections, and so does V.”

Saeran snorts; in his world, connections aren’t exactly a good thing. Connections are why he has to keep one eye open at night. Why he is always looking over his shoulder to make sure he isn’t being followed.

“Hey, babe, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not the same.” Saeran jumps when he feels the soft brush of Hyun’s fingers pushing the hair back out of his eyes, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. In an instant, his face is burning, and he’s frozen in place as they stop to rest lightly on top of his hand. “These kinds of connections will be good for you. If anyone can find your sister, it’s Jumin Han.”

~~~~~~

The venue is filled, people lazily wandering around, walking from one exhibit to the next to view V’s photography and Saeran’s art. Saeran tugs at the collar of the dress shirt he’s sporting, feeling uncomfortably exposed and terribly out of place. 

“Stop it,” scolds a familiar voice, and he glances up to find Hyun watching him in amusement. “If you can wear a choker, you can handle a nice shirt.” 

“It’s not the same.” Despite the grumbled response, he drops his hand, slipping it instead into the pockets of his slacks. “This is itchy, and stiff, and I feel like my skin is about to crawl off me.”

Hyun’s laughter rings out among the din. Eyes sparkling with good humor, he leans forward, mouth quirked into a playful smile. “Then I suppose you’d better make it through this as fast as you can so we can go home and get you out of it, huh?”

“...” Speechless, heat floods Saeran’s cheeks and he looks at the ground, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. This is flirting, right? This is definitely flirting. He thinks. Lately Hyun’s been saying bolder things to him and he’s hard-pressed to know if this is something he should be reading into or if it’s just Hyun handing out compliments freely like usual.

“You know, that blush looks good on you.” Saeran shivers as Hyun’s breath ghosts over the shell of his ear. “I’d like to see it more often.” Something soft brushes against his cheek and he turns to look at Hyun only to find lips pressed to his. It’s a question, more than anything; light, short, but still enough to send Saeran’s mind offline. It’s over too soon and Hyun pulls away, smiling at him fondly.

It takes a second for the gears to start turning again, but then Saeran dares to fist a hand into Hyun’s jacket and tug him down for a second kiss; this one, the answer. 

~~~~~~

His lungs have forgotten how to function.

The screen in front of Saeran is filled with photos, some recent, some a few months old. Every one contains a girl with vermillion hair tied back into a loose ponytail, her golden eyes solemn behind striped glasses. Around her neck rests a pair of orange headphones, barely visible underneath the yellow-and-black hoodie she’s swimming in. And always, always a brown-haired person stands next to her, arms folded and body tense.

Like a bodyguard.

“How did you…” The words trail off as he clicks from one picture to the next, watching her come and go from a secluded bunker on the outside of Seoul.

“I have my resources.” Saeran’s eyes flick to where Jumin sits in his office chair, leaning back and gazing at him dispassionately. “As far as we can tell, she’s a part of some secret agency. It appears that she’s a talented hacker, and is quite adept at thwarting any of our attempts to retrieve more data from her servers.”

“A hacker,” he breathes. That makes things difficult. “Will we be able to rescue her?”

“Most certainly, in time. That is, as long as she  _ wants _ to be rescued.”

“Oh, she wants it.” There’s no mistaking the defiance in those eyes, or the rebellious way she’s squared her shoulders in the photos where she’s seen speaking to her accomplice. It’s been two years, but Saeran would recognize that attitude anywhere.

“Then yes.” Jumin stands abruptly, pulling his phone from his pocket. “If you’ll excuse me, Saeran, I have some calls to make.” The sound of the door reaches Saeran’s ears, but he only has eyes for the girl on the screen.

“We’re coming, Saeyoung,” he whispers, gently touching the screen. “We’re coming.”


End file.
